


forget my politics

by superhoney



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Bottom Dean, Dean is not in a good place, Episode Related, Episode: s12e14 The Raid, Explicit Consent, Hate Sex, Implied Castiel/Dean Winchester, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 00:51:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10060073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superhoney/pseuds/superhoney
Summary: "Nothing about what Dean’s doing right now is rational.He’s sitting across from Ketch, of all people, drinking whiskey so smooth he barely feels the burn in his throat, but he does feel the warmth spreading through his veins, singing that old sweet song that he knows all too well. They aren’t saying much, but they don’t have to. Their eyes are making it all pretty damn clear."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Dean is not in a good headspace in this fic, just like he wasn't in a good headspace in this episode. That being said, everything depicted here is consensual.

This isn’t what Dean wants.

None of this is, really. He doesn’t want his mom to be keeping secrets, doesn’t want Sam to grit his teeth and try to keep the peace like he always does. He wants Sam to be just as _angry_ as he is. God knows it would be justified. Those British dickbags tortured him for days, and yet somehow Sam finds a way to keep himself rational about this whole mess.

Nothing about what Dean’s doing right now is rational.

He’s sitting across from Ketch, of all people, drinking whiskey so smooth he barely feels the burn in his throat, but he does feel the warmth spreading through his veins, singing that old sweet song that he knows all too well. They aren’t saying much, but they don’t have to. Their eyes are making it all pretty damn clear.

Ketch is the enemy, and the way he’s staring at Dean from the other end of the table is downright predatory. Dean’s been on the receiving end of looks like that before-- Hell, he practically welcomes them. He knows his own appeal. 

And everything is so messed up right now. His mom’s gone, because he made her leave-- not when he told her to in quite so many words, but apparently months before that, when she chose the Brits over him and Sam. She’s been gone for a long time. And Sam’s gone too, so it’s just him and Ketch and the bottle of whiskey that drains as steadily as the tension in the room is mounting.

Cas is gone too. But out of all of them, he’s the one Dean can’t think about, not right now. If he does, he’ll lose his nerve completely. 

“Fuck it,” Dean mutters under his breath. He tips his throat back and empties his glass, then sets it down on the table with a noise that echoes through the bunker’s near-empty halls. “We doing this or not?”

Ketch raises an inscrutable eyebrow, but his mouth twitches slightly, and Dean feels a thrill of victory. He may make a lot of mistakes in his life, but he’s never wrong about this. “I didn’t…” Ketch says slowly. “I didn’t know that was something you would want.”

Dean laughs, but it’s a hollow noise. “Drop the act,” he says. “You came here for me. Maybe not like this, but I’m betting you’ll take what you can get.”

Ketch looks at the empty bottle, then back at Dean’s face. “You’ve had quite a bit to drink.”

That does surprise Dean. He wouldn’t have expected such consideration. “If you think that’s enough to impair my judgment, you don’t know me at all,” he says bitterly. 

“You’re right,” Ketch says, rising to his feet and slowly coming to stand beside Dean. “I don’t know you. I’ve seen your picture. Stared at it for hours, looked over lists of your accomplishments, tried to put together a picture of who, or what, Dean Winchester truly is. And yet I think I’ve learned more about you in the past half hour than I did in all that time.”

“Shut up,” Dean tells him flatly. “We’re done talking.”

That makes Ketch smile. A sharp, dangerous thing. It sends a shiver of anticipation down Dean’s spine. Ketch leans down as though he’s going to kiss him, and Dean twists away, offering his neck rather than his lips. “No kissing,” he warns. That isn’t what this is.

Ketch chuckles, so close to Dean’s skin that he can feel the warmth of his breath. “Very well,” and he sounds amused. Prick. 

But when he trails his lips over Dean’s jaw, Dean shudders and lets him, tilting his head to the side, shameless. He chose this. He embraces it. 

It isn’t what he really wants, no.

But right now, it’s exactly what he needs.

His mind made up, Dean scrambles to get Ketch’s jacket off. As much as he likes the leather, it’s getting in the way. Ketch chuckles smoothly and helps Dean push it off his shoulders to land on the floor with a thud, then strips Dean of his overshirt in turn. His hand brushes across Dean’s nipple as he does, and Dean bites back a cry. That damn eyebrow raises again, and Ketch repeats his motion, slower this time, and Dean can’t contain his broken moan.

He’s still sitting in the chair with Ketch standing above him, and it’s getting difficult to move things the way he wants to, so he tugs the other man down until he’s sitting on the edge of the map table, his legs spreading to allow Dean to sit between them. It would still be awkward to kiss him like this, but that’s okay, because they aren’t kissing. 

Instead, Dean leans forward and runs his hand over the length of Ketch’s erection, visibly straining against his pants. Ketch lets out a noise of his own and covers Dean’s hand, adjusting his grip. “Perfect,” he murmurs, and that shouldn’t affect Dean the way it does, shouldn’t make him proud and pleased, but it does. 

He’s hard himself, and he shifts slightly in his seat, seeking some friction. Ketch notices, and that wicked smile reappears on his face. With his free hand, he lightly traces the line of Dean’s cheekbone, then grips him less gently by the jaw. “Tell me what you want, Dean.”

Dean closes his eyes for a brief second. The images that flood his brain have nothing to do with the man in front of him. But this is meant to be a distraction from exactly those kinds of thoughts.

So he looks up at Ketch from under his lashes, knowing the effect that it tends to have on people. And he admits the thing that he can barely admit to himself. “I want you to fuck me.”

Because he does. He knows, from the touches they’ve shared so far, that Ketch can play him like a fine instrument. He can give Dean release. He told Sam he needed to hit something, but sex has always been an equally successful way for him to blow off some steam. 

And a guy like this, with those cold eyes and those callused hands, is exactly the kind of guy Dean would have gone out looking for. Luckily for him, he didn’t even have to-- Ketch just showed up.

His hands are everywhere-- pulling Dean out of his seat, unbuckling his belt while Dean pulls his shirt over his head. He won’t take them to his room. He won’t do this in his bed. He needs it hard and fast and he needs it now. He mouths across Ketch’s collarbone as he drags his shirt off of him and tosses it aside, joining the steadily-growing pile of clothes on the ground. 

They’re down to their boxers and Dean is pressing himself against Ketch, both of them kept upright only by the hard edge of the table behind him. He shifts upwards so that their cocks brush together through the fabric and Dean groans. It’s been a long time. Longer than usual. He’s shaking with need as Ketch’s hands settle on his ass and haul him even closer, grounding him.

“Do you have--” Ketch asks, his voice low and dark. 

“Wallet,” Dean answers, indicating the jeans on the floor beside them. He misses the warmth of Ketch’s body when he crouches down to retrieve the necessary supplies, but he’s back quickly, grabbing Dean by the hips and spinning him around so that he faces away from him.

God, yes. There’s something intoxicating about the rough way Ketch treats him. Dean isn’t fragile. He can handle it. This is what he needs. 

He rests his arms on the table and arches his back in invitation. Ketch laughs, surprised, and runs a hand down Dean’s back, teasing, just a light scratch with his nails. Dean hears him tear open the packet of lube, and then there’s a finger brushing across his hole, and then inside him.

He moans and thrusts his hips back, already begging for more. Ketch gives it to him, opening Dean up with his fingers until Dean is cursing under his breath and rutting against the table.

“Will you just hurry up,” he grunts.

“I doubt this is going to be a repeat occurrence, so forgive me for attempting to savour it,” Ketch snaps, and he sounds far from unaffected himself. 

“Yeah, well, you’re right about that.” Dean twists his head back and meets his eyes. “Come on.”

“You’re sure?” Ketch’s hand is on his hip, holding him in place, but it’s gentle enough that Dean could throw him off if he wanted to. 

But he doesn’t want to. 

“Yes,” Dean says, clear and confident. He’s sick of putting other people’s needs before his own. This time, he isn’t afraid to ask for what he wants. 

Ketch leans over him and places a kiss at the top of his spine. It’s a tender gesture, and it catches Dean off-guard. But then he hears the condom packet opening, and Ketch is pressing forward, the tip of his cock slowly sliding into Dean’s body.

It feels so good. Dean drops his hand down, resting it on his hands, and relaxes. Ketch enters him slowly, then pauses. Dean snorts and shoves his hips back, encouraging him.

There’s that chuckle again, and then Ketch is _finally_ moving inside him the way that Dean wants, thrusting forward until he’s fully buried in Dean and then pulling back, establishing a rhythm that has Dean’s breath stuttering in no time. The table is cool and comforting under his cheek and part of him wishes this could go on forever, that he could forget about all the other shitty things in his life and just enjoy this.

But that isn’t the way the world works for Dean Winchester. He takes his pleasure where he can, because he knows it can never last.

Ketch is pounding into him faster now, and he tightens his grip on Dean’s hips as he slams into him. Dean reaches down and wraps his own hand around his neglected cock, stroking himself in time to Ketch’s thrusts. He isn’t going to last much longer. 

This is usually the time when Dean would start letting all the sweet words spill out of him, but he doesn’t have any of those for this man. “Come on,” he says instead. “Wanna feel it.”

“God, you’re something else,” Ketch says breathlessly. “Come for me, Dean.”

There’s a hint of command in his tone, and it’s enough to tip Dean over the edge. He comes with a low groan, spilling hot and wet over his own hand. 

Ketch echoes his groan, and he thrusts deep inside Dean and stays there. Dean can feel him even through the barrier of the condom, and he revels in it. Ketch slumps forward for a second, overcome by the force of his own orgasm. His weight is heavy against Dean’s back, but it’s not suffocating. 

Then he gathers himself up and pulls out of Dean’s body, stepping back and away from him as he does. He looks at Dean for a second, and his eyes soften slightly, but Dean lifts his chin and meets his gaze firmly. He’s not budging on the no-kissing rule.

Ketch’s smile is a twisted, bitter thing. “May I trouble you for the use of your washroom?”

Dean indicates the correct direction with a jerk of his head. He waits until Ketch has gathered his clothes and disappeared from sight, then makes his way to the other shower room to get himself cleaned up.

He stares at himself in the mirror, wondering what Sam would say if he knew what had just happened. If he would call Dean a hypocrite for being upset that their mom was figuratively in bed with the British Men of Letters but he literally fucked one of them. 

It doesn’t matter. Sam never needs to know. Neither does his m-- Mary. He has to get used to calling her that. The name feels wrong, but it’s a matter of principle. 

Out of habit, he checks the messages on his phone. Nothing from either of them. There is one from Cas, though. Dean’s fingers hover over it for a second, then he puts the phone away. He can’t talk to Cas while he can still feel Ketch’s hands on his hips, his lips on the back of his neck. It would be mixing two things that Dean really needs to keep separate. 

Once he’s dressed, he returns to the war room just as Ketch is approaching from the other side. They eye each other warily, and Ketch looks like he’s about to say something, then sighs and shrugs slightly, like it isn’t worth the effort. 

“I’m going to go take out some vampires,” he says instead. His tone is neutral. “Would you care to join me?”

Dean considers it for a moment. He’s calmer now. The sex helped, like he knew it would. But if he stays here alone much longer, the same vicious thoughts will come circling back around, and that itch under his skin will return. 

He doesn’t like Ketch. He doesn’t trust him.

But he’s Dean Winchester, and fucking and killing are like breathing to him at this point. So he picks up his jacket and puts it on, noting the way Ketch’s eyes light up as he does. 

“Let’s go,” he says.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that was different. I just couldn't get over the tension between them in this episode. Hopefully I'm not the only one who was kinda into it. 
> 
> Title from Blinded by David Usher.


End file.
